


Stand Before Me

by rosehathawhey



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-02 14:45:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2815916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosehathawhey/pseuds/rosehathawhey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Coda. Beth wakes up to find she's been buried alive, while Daryl struggles to move on from her death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This idea popped into my head one day while I was walking one of the boys I nanny for. FYI, it’s really hard to push a stroller and type on your phone at the same time. I hope everyone enjoys my contribution to the growing list of Team Delusional fics. Yes, yes, I know it’s unrealistic to have a person crawl out of a fresh grave but this is a show about zombies and blah blah blah. IT’S ALIIIIVE!  
> Be wary: This could be triggering for anyone who has struggled with suicide or depression before, so proceed with caution.

* * *

 

   The first thing she felt was pain. In her arms, her legs, her entire body. In her head, especially her head. Her skull felt like someone had bashed it in with a hammer, and there was a ringing in her ears that was nearly deafening. A gun. A woman.  

   _Oh._

   Oh my god, had she been shot?

   _She had been shot. She had been shot. She had been shot. She had been shot._

   Something was crushing her. Beth opened her eyes frantically, needing to know. But as soon as she did, they burned.

   _What’s happening?_

   She sucked in a breath, but instead of air her mouth filled with dirt. Not just her mouth, it went up her nose, into her eyes, her ears. Beth couldn't breathe, she was being crushed. Her entire body was covered.

   _Oh my god._

   She was buried alive.

   This had to be a nightmare, Beth was sure it was a nightmare. Except if it was a nightmare then why couldn't she breathe? It felt so real.

   Beth tried to move her hands, to try and claw her way out. She didn't even know if that was possible. The earth was crushing her, keeping her immobilized. This was how she was going to die.

   _No!_

   Letting out a silent scream that only served to make her choke on more dirt, Beth wiggled her body as much as she could.

   It worked. Somehow she was able to move her hands up near her chest.

   Unable to breathe, sure she was going to die; Beth Greene did the only thing she knew how. She clawed at the dirt and pebbles, moist and heavy over her body.

   _This had to be a dream. Or she was already dead and this was Hell._

   Except, completely inexplicably, the ground moved. Beth was actually making progress, the dirt moving so that it had become more and more easy for her to shift her body around. Whoever had fucking BURIED HER ALIVE obviously hadn't thought to dig too deep.

   As Beth continued to claw, her burning eyes registered light above her. She was close.

   _She was so close._

   Above the ground she could hear a faint shuffling and moaning.

   _What’s happening? Climb, climb, climb!_

   Her hands grasped onto something long and rough, it cut into her hands but she ignored the pain. Using it to move more of the dirt around, Beth pulled as hard as she could on it.

   Somehow, some way, it worked. Her head moved above ground, then her torso, and finally her legs. Crawling away from the fresh dirt that she had just climbed out of, Beth shakily rose to her feet. She swayed back and forth; blood rushing to her already pounding head and blurring her vision. In her hand she held a crude looking wood cross.

   _Help me._

   "Put your hands up. Now!"

   Beth slowly looked up from the item in her hand. Someone stood in front of her, gun pointed at her head. She couldn't see who it was though; a hard, black mask covered their face.

   "Are you alive? Say something." She could hear his demands but Beth just stared, wide eyed. "Say something right fucking now!"

   The voice sounded slightly desperate. Her head hurt, her body hurt, she hurt.

   _SAY SOMETHING OR HE'LL SHOOT!_

   Beth opened her mouth to speak- and vomited. Dark chunks of dirt mixed with bile poured from her mouth. Beginning to choke on it, she keeled over onto her hands and knees. Vaguely aware that she was sobbing, Beth didn't move until she was simply heaving up her own saliva.

   When she looked up she saw that the man with the gun had lowered it and taken off his mask. Staring down at her, wide eyed, he began to mouth something at Beth.

   _No, he’s speaking._

   Everything went dark.

***

 

   When Beth came to she was laid out on a couch, covered with a heavy blanket. Without moving her head, Beth let her eyes survey as much of the room as possible. There was a desk to her right, filled with stacks of paper and a clock with unmoving hands. 5:10.

   A small silver cross stood next to it, and the walls were filled with framed pictures of biblical scenes. Wherever she was, the person who lived here believed in God. Maybe they wouldn't hurt her then?

   Almost as if on cue, the now dull throb in the back of her head turned into a full blown fire.

   "NO!" She screamed and flung her head forward. Liquid dropped off the back of her skull and Beth reached back in panic.

   _Someone had shot her again._

   "Stop," a steady voice behind her soothed, grabbing her hand before she could touch her wound. "It's okay, I'm just cleaning it."

   Beth let the man slowly push her back down so that her head lay on the arm of the couch. Her breathing was ragged as she struggled to calm herself.

   The man pressed something damp onto her skull and the burning sensation started up again. This time she simply balled her hands into fists and stayed still. Beth was vaguely aware of the small sobs that racked her body, and her wet cheeks.

   _She was crying._

   "Shhh, hun, just stay still. It's okay. You're okay " The man soothed her, gently stroking her hair with his free hand.

   Was she okay though? She had been shot. She had been shot by a police officer. That was all she knew. That, and her name.

   Elisabeth Josephine Greene.

   Elisabeth Josephine Greene.

   Elisabeth Josephine Greene.

   Beth.

   Beth. 

   Beth.

*** 

 

   Beth let out a groan low in her throat, and then cringed. Her throat was dry. She groaned again but it only hurt worse.

   Someone grabbed her hand and squeezed comfortingly. It was the man from before, Beth was almost sure of it. But even with her eyes shut the sunlight streaming in through the window was too much. She couldn't bring herself to open them.

   The pain in her head was still there but it was no longer the crippling, all encompassing throb of before. Now it was only the back left side of her skull that ached.

   _She had been shot._

   Tears leaked out of Beth's eyes once again. She tried to squeeze them shut harder but they just kept flowing.

   The man began to stroke her hand with his thumb and Beth gripped onto him tighter.

   "Take this," he whispered. There was a rustling sound as he let go of her, then placed a water bottle in one fist and a pill in the other.

   Without any hesitation, Beth swallowed the pill and gulped the water down as quickly as she could manage.

   "Go to sleep, I'm right here."

   The man's promise comforted her, made her feel safe. Was it because she knew him? It didn't even matter to Beth, not now anyway. Ignoring the tears that still leaked from her eyes, Beth let herself drift into unconsciousness.

   The last word that floated through her mind before sleep took her:

   _Walker._

***

 

   "I'm hungry."

   The words came out of her mouth in a scratchy voice that sounded nothing like her own. Opening her eyes, Beth turned her head toward the sound of ruffling pages. The man with no name looked up from behind the desk where he sat reading a bible.

   "I'm hungry," she repeated.

   "Jesus," the man didn't move, only stared at her with his mouth hanging open. "I didn't think you could even talk anymore. That wound," he motioned to her head, "I've seen worse but it still didn't look good."

   Beth didn't understand why but suddenly she couldn't bear to look at him. Turning her head away as quickly as her stiff neck would allow, Beth dug her face into the couch's cushions.

   "I'm hungry," she whispered.

   She heard him let out a sympathetic hum and stand up from his chair. Almost immediately he placed something on her stomach, moving away from her to sit back down. Beth knew he was giving her space and she was grateful.

   Looking down, Beth saw another water bottle and a couple of saltines lying on her. Reaching down without lifting her head up, she slowly began eating. The crackers were stale but it didn't matter. Beth could barely manage to swallow them. After forcing herself to finish one she interrupted into a coughing fit.

   "Try drinking some water at the same time, just mush it up in your mouth. It'll be easier for you to eat." The man recommended.

   It was good advice. Beth got through four of them fairly quickly, before the light began to hurt her eyes. Closing them to try and get some sort of relief, she felt herself falling into sleep.

   One of the crackers still hung halfway out of her mouth.

***

 

    _There was a wailing child. Not a child, an infant. A little girl._

_Asskicker._

_Judith._

_The baby lay in the middle of a forest clearing, screaming as Beth watched her from the trees. She wanted to go to her, to help her; Beth knew she loved that baby. But she couldn't bring herself to move, instead wrapping her arms around the tree that she hid behind and praying someone would come._

_God must have been listening because only a moment later a man walked into the clearing from Beth's left. He was handsome, with curly brown hair cropped short and pale blue eyes that held a haunted look. The sheriff's uniform that he wore gave Beth a sense of relief. Was he here to protect this baby?_

_Judith._

_Even after he picked her up, Judith continued to sob. He rocked her gently, like he knew what he was doing, but it made no difference._

_"Daddy's here. Calm down, baby, I'm right here."_

_Beth clutched the tree tighter, ignoring the bark that cut into her skin and made her bleed. All she wanted to do was hold Judith, help her, love her._

_Make her stop crying!_

_She did. She stopped. She stopped and turned her head slowly to look at Beth, the officer looking over too._

_Beth cringed when Judith opened her mouth once again, preparing for the baby's wail. Instead, she spoke._

_"No one's coming!"_

_Judith's voice sounded impossibly clear, too clear for a child that age. It sounded like her own._

_No one’s coming!_

_Something pinched the top of her head and Beth shot her hand up to swat away whatever it was. The man's sheriff hat rested there._

***

 

   Shooting into an upright position, Beth screamed as loud as she possibly could. There was nothing else to do.

   "Quiet!" The man hissed at her as he barged into the room. "You'll bring the damn walkers around."

   _Walkers. Walkers. She knew what that meant!_

   Sucking in to stop her screams, Beth traded them in for tears. Her body wracked with sobs, Beth folded over her knees and let herself go. The man came to sit at her feet and pulled her into his chest. Part of her knew that he just wanted to silence her, but she took his comfort willingly. The way he seemed to have cared for her after she had risen from the ground- She _must_ know him.

   Did he know her child? Was Judith even her child? Beth had felt such an overwhelming sense of affection when she had stared at that baby; Judith had to be hers. Was the man who had held her the father?

   "It's good you're sitting up. Can you eat something?"

   Beth pulled away from him, hiccupping as her tears slowed. She tried to study the man's face in hopes of feeling any bit of recognition, but there was none. His dark skin glistened with the oil of someone who was unwashed and there was even a dried patch of mud under his left eye. He smelled good though, like the cheap cologne that boys in her grade school had worn after they first hit puberty.

_She had lived in King’s County. On a farm with a mother and a father and a sister and a brother. What were their names? Were they here now?_

   "Can you eat?" He repeated.

   "What's your name?" Beth's voice sounded much clearer than the last time she had spoken.

   "Morgan."

   "Do I know you?"

   "No."

   Beth felt her eyes begin to well up with tears again.

   "What happened to me? Why was I in the ground?"

   Morgan gently stroked a thumb over the small bandage on her forehead.

   _Entry wound._

   "I'm guessing someone thought you were dead. Since you were already shot in the head they probably didn't think you needed to be-" Morgan mimicked someone stabbing a knife through his temple.

   _Walker._

   Silent tears spilled down Beth's cheeks and she lay back down onto the couch.

   "I'm so tired," she pleaded.

   Morgan leaned forward to pull her blanket up to her neck.

   "Go back to sleep." He nodded in understanding.

   "My name is Beth," she answered the question he hadn't asked.

 

* * *

 

   Daryl didn't sleep anymore. Really, Daryl didn't do much of anything anymore. No one asked him to take watch, or hunt, or wash clothes, and they sure as shit didn't leave him around Judith unattended.

   Everyone seemed to be waiting for him to do something. Their eyes were constantly on him, unless they were turned on each other. Even then they were trading silent conversations about him. Did they really expect him not to notice? Daryl was a tracker, the most observant fucking one out of all of them. The whispers that stopped as soon as he walked up weren't lost on him.

   After Grady, after the burial, Rick had tried to talk to him about what had happened. Then Carol. Then Glenn. Then the Tara girl. And finally Michonne.

   Michonne hadn't wanted to talk about Grady though, she had tried to ask him about after the prison fell. Where he and Beth had gone, what they had done.

   "Were you two-"

   It had been then that Daryl made it clear that Beth wasn't something he was going to discuss with any of them, and he wouldn't hesitate to put an arrow through the skull of anyone who tried.

   Now they just stared.

   Except for Maggie; Maggie didn't bother to look at anyone. She just fucking cried all the time. Cried like she gave two shits about Beth after the prison fell. Cried like she hadn't written Beth off immediately and looked only for Glenn. Cried like she hadn't tried to leave Georgia even after she knew that Beth was alive. Cried like she wasn't a selfish,

   "Bitch."

   "What?"

   Carl, who lay next to him, had turned his body to face Daryl. Carl was one of the few who had yet to try and get Daryl to talk about Beth. He just hung around constantly, not too close, but close enough that Daryl noticed.

   "Nothin'," Daryl mumbled, staring up at the bare trees above him.

   "Okay."

   Daryl focused on the night sky, counting the stars over and over again. Always aware of Maggie's pathetic, muffled sobs to his left.

   Maybe he would sleep tonight.

***

 

   They hadn't even gotten to say anything. No kind words, no goodbyes, none of the things they'd always done at the funerals they gave their dead. The group of walkers that overtook them had been the biggest they'd seen in almost a year. So Beth's body had just been dumped into the ground like it was nothing.

   Like _she_ had been nothing.

   "Stop looking at me," Daryl bit out, not even needing to look up from the ground. The group had been on the road for hours, walking along in virtual silence. He had felt Rick's gaze on him almost the entire way and he was tired of it.

   "You sleep last night?" Rick ignored his command.

   "Yeah."

   "You sure? I woke up at some point to go to the bathroom and I saw your eyes were open."

   "It's pretty fucking creepy the way you’re watchin' me all of the time. People here're gonna start thinking you're a fag."

   Rick scoffed.

   "Stop, Daryl. I know what you're doing."

   Rick stopped bothering him after that though, so Daryl didn't care what the man thought he knew.

   _We should burn it down._

   With a shudder, Daryl pushed the gentle, feminine voice from his brain. He'd already hallucinated one dead family member, he wasn't about to do it again.

   The first few days, her voice had been inside of him all the time. Now she was fading, the lack of sleep making it hard to concentrate on anything. Let alone a dead girl's words.

   "Our bus!" Someone shouted behind them. Rosita.

   There in front of them was the overturned school bus, charred and barren. Someone had been smart enough to pick it clean once the fire had burnt out. Abe and Glenn still walked inside to see if there was anything, but came out empty handed not even a minute later.

   "What're the chances we'll find a van or something?" Carol asked, looking around as if one would magically appear on the side of the road.

   "We need to find a way around this first, a few miles up there's a giant herd of walkers."

   "How giant?"

   "At least a hundred."

   There was a murmur of disappointment that traveled through the group, and Father Gabriel let out a whimper. Daryl was half tempted to suggest they see it through, try and fight the walkers off. He could use a little spilling of their blackened blood to wake him back up again.

   No one would agree to it though, not with Judith there.

   The group began to discuss the best tactics for avoiding the herd so Daryl let their voices fade into a low buzz and instead focused on their surroundings. It was a surprisingly warm day for so late in the fall, the sun beating painfully down on them. Judith stirred and sighed softly against Rick's chest. Noah stood off to the side, biting his thumb nervously and holding onto every word that was being said.

   Maggie just stared off into the distance, her face puffy and eyes still wet from last night. He clenched his crossbow tighter against his shoulder.

   "Are you all stupid? Why're we just standing around and talking about this? We got a few more miles so we can figure it out while we're moving."

   Everyone turned to stare blankly at Daryl.

   _Fucking ridiculous._

   Starting to lead the group down the highway, he stopped in front of Rosita to rip her hat off and place it on Judith's head.

   "You learn anything from Beth? Put a hat on your damn baby."

   Instead of looking offended, Rick just nodded sympathetically at Daryl and began walking again. The rest followed suit, Abe shooting him a dirty look and interlacing his fingers with Rosita's before continuing on.

 ***

 

_"Why is it so cold? It's barely September!"_

_Daryl only shrugged, which obviously wasn't enough for Beth as she kicked her leg out from her spot next to him._

_"Ow," he complained, rubbing his calf. "You're gonna give me a damn charlie horse."_

_"Well then you've gotta answer me when I'm talkin' to you. I mean, no one else is gonna do it."_

_"Just go to sleep."_

_"I can't, okay? I'm trying to relax but my body won't let me. I think I'm gonna die of hypothermia."_

_She laughed at the last part, but Daryl could tell from the way that she squirmed a little closer to him that she really was uncomfortable._

_He sighed, making sure to sound like he was annoyed. The truth was that Daryl was cold too, but he would never admit it._

_"C'mere," Daryl reached out his arm to tug her closer to where he sat, keeping watch. She scooted over quickly and curled into his side. They barely even touched but already he could feel a difference._

_"Better?"_

_"Mhm." Even in the dark Daryl could almost make out her satisfied smirk._

_"Alright now can you go to sleep? I ain't letting you off watch just because you wasted your time to sleep rollin' around."_

_"Good night, Daryl."_

_"Night."_

_Sighing softly, Beth reached up for his hand and brought it down on the ground next to hers. Interlacing their fingers together, he listened to her breathing even out as she drifted off to sleep._

***

   The sky that night was covered in clouds, so there were no stars to count. All he had were his thoughts, but those were more than enough to keep him awake.

 ***

 

   On their third night trekking through the woods, Sasha and Eugene managed to build a decent fire. It had been raining for over a day now so it had been almost impossible to find dry wood. When the first tiny flame popped up, more than one person cheered.

   "Now that's what I'd call a miracle!" Tyreese patted Sasha on the back.

   Carol stood over the fire, cooking the couple of squirrels that Carl had managed to find them that morning. The boy had gotten better at hunting since the prison fell. Daryl figured it was kind of a necessity when you were out fending for yourself. Really, he realized, Carl's experiences growing up weren't too far from his own.

   That should have made him feel something, whether for him or for Carl, but he couldn't seem to muster up anything. Neither of them was going to be around much longer so it didn't make a difference anyway.

   "Not bad, huh?" Carl joked when he saw Daryl examining his haul.

   Daryl only stared silently at the boy. When were these people gonna figure out that he didn't want to talk to any of them?

   It was like how it had been with Beth after they'd first been stuck together. Her just yammering on all the goddamn time about high school dances and Maggie's string of boyfriends before Glenn. As if he gave a fuck about her life before.

   Sure, he'd started to look forward to the stories after a while. But like he told her, it was just a form of Stockholm Syndrome.

   Until he'd started telling her stories from his life before too.

   "I've got an idea," Glenn clapped his hands together to try and grab everyone's attention. "You know, I've been doing a lot of thinking about Beth lately."

   Maggie made a strangled noise in the back of her throat but managed not to burst into tears.

   "I vote we all go around and say something that we loved about her. We didn't get the chance to say it during her funeral but we can say it now. She was family and that’s what family deserves."

   Daryl watched everyone around him nod their heads. Even Maggie managed to move hers slightly from where it rested on Glenn's shoulder.

   He dug his nails into his palms.

   Glenn took a deep breath and stood up. "I guess I'll go first. Beth was my sister-in-law, which you all probably know. She was one of the good ones, always there for you with a shoulder to cry on and advice that was surprisingly good for an eighteen year old."

   They laughed. Daryl dug his nails in deeper.

   Everyone had something to say. Beth was sweet. Beth was light. Beth was hope. Beth was the mother of my fucking child.

   They all continued to laugh as they told stories of her, and cried over moments she would never witness, and Daryl felt the pain in the palms of his hands worsen.

   When Maggie stood up, sniffling and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she prepared to speak, Daryl was done. Pushing himself up off the ground, he made to leave for the woods.

   "Daryl!" Carol gasped before he could even move. "Your hands!"

   Daryl looked down to see there was a steady stream of blood dripping from his closed fists into the fire below. He eased up his grip but it only increased the flow of the blood.

   "Daryl," Carol repeated, this time with more sympathy than shock. Standing up, she rushed over to him with a cloth that had been lying on the ground next to her.

   "I'm fine," he grumbled while she wrapped bandages around his hands. Carol gave him a look that told him exactly what she thought of that declaration.

   Like Rick, she could think whatever the fuck she wanted about him. She didn't matter.

   A hand on Daryl's shoulder caused him to jump. He turned to see Maggie standing in front of him with tears in her eyes.

   He could feel something building inside of him, he needed to get away from here.

   "Daryl," Maggie's voice dripped with concern. She tried to reach out to hug him but Daryl took a step back in shock.

   "Don't touch me."

   "Daryl," she repeated in that same tone. Like she understood him, like she knew anything about how he felt.

   He took another step away from her, but this time she followed him. Closing the distance, Maggie wrapped her arms around his neck and began to sob into his shoulder.

   "Get off of me."

   She ignored him, clutching around him tighter.

   "I miss her too," she soothed.

   Daryl's vision went red.

  "Get the FUCK off of me!" He growled and pushed Maggie away from him, full force.

   Maggie flew back, hitting the ground with a painful sounding thump.

   "Hey!" Abe shouted and grabbed Daryl's shoulder.

   Daryl swung around and hit the man in the jaw as hard as he could. Thankfully Tyreese and Rick were there to hold Abe back because even in his anger Daryl was sure that he would get his ass handed to him in that fight.

   Maggie sat on the ground clutching her chest. He must have knocked the wind out of her because she was gasping for breath.

_Good. He’d told her not to touch him._

   "Daryl," Maggie wheezed. "I know-"

   "You don't know nothin'!" Daryl screamed at her, uncaring that any walker within a hundred yards would hear him.

   Spit flew from his mouth as he continued to yell.

   "You didn't give a flying fuck about your sister until I carried her body out of that hospital! Not after the prison, not after I TOLD YOU SHE WAS ALIVE. I get back from finding out where she is and you're already fucking gone! Just gone and abandoned the only family you had left."

   Catching her breath again, Maggie started to cry.

   "Quit the bullshit crying Maggie, they might be buyin' it but I sure ain't. Beth, your _sister_ , looked for you for weeks before giving up. Even then she was sure you all were alive. None of you," Daryl turned his accusations to the rest of the group. They, at least, all had the good sense to look guilty. "Not a single one of you cared enough about her to spare a damn thought for her when she was gone. She raised your fucking baby, Rick. All of you talking about how much you'll miss her, it's a fucking joke!"

   The silence was a jarring thing when he finally stopped to catch his breath. Crouching down in front of Maggie, Daryl silently waited until she looked up at him. When he spoke, he could barely recognize his voice; it sounded almost feral.

   "A fucking joke," he hissed.

   Then, without another word, he turned and stalked off into the woods.

 ***

 

   Daryl wasn't sure how much time had passed, but finally his vision cleared.

   After killing some walkers that had come to investigate the shouts, he crumpled on the ground in the first clearing he could find. Leaning his back against a tree, Daryl tried to focus on his breathing.

   When it finally worked, when Daryl finally felt calm again, that was when it hit him.

   Yelling at Maggie, at all of them, he had expected it to make him feel lighter. Part of him had hoped that maybe it would help him move on.

   But it hadn't. Beth was still dead. Rotting in the ground while he kept on breathing. It should have been the other way around.

   _Why had he let her step forward?_

   It didn't even matter anymore. The truth was that she hadn't made things better, all she'd done was give him a false sense of hope. Beth had made him feel like there was something more to his world, but there wasn't.

   A part of him hated her for that.

   All that lay ahead was more of the same. Tracking, starving, killing, surviving. All they were was the walking dead.

   _You’ll be the last man standing._

   That wasn't what he wanted though. To watch everyone around him rot away until he sat in this very spot once again. Alone, in the woods, where he just accepted that things were ugly.

_I’ll be gone someday._

   "Stop."

   But maybe that was what it came down to. Was she just another lesson in never getting too close?

   Daryl unhooked Beth's knife from his belt and laid it in his lap. This was it. All that he had left of her was a weapon he'd thought to quickly grab while running away.

   He dragged his hand lightly along the blade, surprised when it actually nicked his finger. Someone must have sharpened it at the hospital because it had gotten dull by the end of his time with Beth.

   Daryl let out a short, bitter laugh. 'His time with Beth', what did that even mean?

   _You’re gonna miss me so bad when I’m gone, Daryl Dixon._

   She wasn't wrong. Thinking back on her, she was right about most things.

   _You’ll be the last man standing._

   Without thinking too hard about why, Daryl raised the knife and slowly brushed it along his wrist.

   Then he pressed down.

   _You’re gonna miss me so bad-_


	2. Chapter 2

_It seemed like she had only just fallen asleep when someone started gently shaking her._ _  
  
"Stop it," she moaned. If she could have managed, Beth would have pushed their hand away. But two bouts of stomach flu in under three weeks had taken its toll on her body. Simply rolling over was a hard enough task, let alone raising her entire arm.  
  
   "Bethy, I need you to drink some water. Doctor Wallace says you're dehydrated."  
  
   She opened her eyes to see her father standing over her, dark circles under his eyes. An anxious look was reflected in them as he examined her face closely.   
  
   "Am I okay? Why're you looking at me like that?"  
  
   "I'm just worried, is all." Hershel sat down next to her on the bed and took her hand in his own. Bringing it to his mouth, her father kissed her hand softly. Then he squeezed it as tightly as he could.   
  
   "Ow!"  
  
   "Sorry," he chuckled. "Just makin' sure."  
  
   Hershel seemed to become lost in his own thoughts as he mindlessly stroked her hand with his thumb.  
  
   Beth tried to process his words but they didn't make any sense. Making sure she could feel that? What kind of sickness made you stop feeling things? It sure wasn't the stomach flu. She tried to remember the non-sexually transmitted diseases that Mr. Pratt had gone over in health class the previous semester.  
  
   Polio? Damn, she should have paid more attention. Caroline had spent the entire class period passing notes to her about how in love with Shawn she was, and that was all Beth could remember about that disturbing day.   
  
   "Daddy, what's wrong with me?"  
  
   Her father looked her over once more before propping her up onto some extra pillows.  
  
   "It's just the flu," he sounded like he was trying harder to convince himself than he was Beth. "I need you to drink this."  
  
   Gulping down the water he handed her as quickly as possible, Beth fixed her father with the most threatening stare she could muster.  Her daddy couldn't lie to her, she was his baby girl. Beth might not be the rebel that Maggie had been but she knew how to get him to spill to her.   
  
   "I don't believe you. Should I be in the hospital?"  
  
   "No!" Hershel answered too forcefully. _

_Realizing his mistake, he took a calming breath before continuing._

_"People are getting sick, real sick. The hospitals are all full and I don't want you going there and catching whatever it is."_ _  
  
"But it's not what I have?"  
  
   "I don't think so, baby. I just need you to stay in bed for a few more days to get your strength back up. Otis is making you some chicken soup right now." He paused, seeming unsure of what he was going to say next.  
  
   "Jimmy's parents are sick, so he's coming to stay here for a while."  
  
   "No!" Beth shot up in horror, but laid back down immediately when she started seeing spots. "Daddy, no! I haven't showered in days! Look at my hair!"  
  
   She unconsciously reached up to touch the massive pimple that had been forming on her cheek. Hershel laughed at her panic, but it sounded hoarse, like he hadn't done so in days.   
  
   "Don't touch that, you know what your mother says."  
  
   "It's not funny, daddy. This is serious! We've only been dating for a month, I can't have him seeing me like this yet."  
  
   He continued to chuckle, like the traitor he was.   
  
   "I know. I'll get you a wet rag to at least wipe down your face."   
  
   Pushing himself up from the bed with a groan, he began to make his way towards the door.   
  
   "And some deodorant! And can you send mom up to brush my hair."  
  
   Hershel stiffened.  
  
   "I just don't think I can sit up that long." Beth explained.   
  
   "Your mother's sick too, so I don't want you to get near her. Otis and I set up a little makeshift hospital in the barn for anyone who can't find care."  
  
   Her heartbeat picked up at the tone in her father's voice. Something wasn't right.   
  
   "Are they going to be okay? Is mom going to be okay?"  
  
   Hershel turned back towards her once he reached the doorway. This was it, the moment of truth. Her father had never lied to her before and she was sure that he wouldn't start now.   
  
   "Yes, they're going to be fine."  
  
   Steady eye contact. No blinking. Straight face. Not fidgeting. He had to be telling the truth, right?  
  
   "Okay."  
  
   He made to leave then, but stopped and nonchalantly remarked.   
  
   "Oh, and Bethy? You're bleeding."  
  
   "Huh?"   
  
   But he was already gone.  
  
   It was then that she felt something warm dripping down her face. Beth slowly pushed herself off of the bed to go over to her mirror.   
  
   The thing was covered in pictures, all taped on so that she couldn't get more than a glimpse of herself through it. Her mother, her father, Shawn, Maggie, Jimmy, Otis, Patricia, Caroline, Michelle, Leanne, Zoe... And other people who she had never met before. The baby, Judith, was there, along with Judith's father. A teenage boy stood laughing with a beautiful black woman, her skin a dark contrast to his. An Asian man smiled down at the camera from atop a horse that Beth didn't recognize.   
  
   Before Beth could examine the faces more closely, the liquid from her forehead dripped in front of her eyes. With an annoyed hiss, Beth wiped at her face to try and clear her vision. She began to pull the pictures away from the mirror so she could see where the source of her bleeding was coming from. They slowly fell to the ground around her feet. Beth shifted to see one that had slid under her toe.    
  
   A man with long hair and a dark gaze stared up at her from the doorway of an abandoned factory. No smile graced his lips. Just a scowl that sent a chill down Beth's spine.   
  
   Until suddenly he was covered in blood. A steady stream that fell on his face from above.   
  
   Beth lifted her gaze to finally examine herself in the mirror. She looked paler than normal. Her pajama shirt soaked through with the dark liquid.  
  
   Blood that flowed from a gaping hole in her head.  
  
   She screamed._

_***_

 

   It seemed like she had only just fallen asleep when someone started gently shaking her.  
  
   "Stop it," she moaned.   
  
   "I'm sorry, Beth," Morgan's voice soothed. "I need you to wake up."  
  
   Beth squinted through the bright sun that shone through the window, trying to focus her eyes onto Morgan. Her vision seemed to be blurring in and out again. Morgan's hand reached out to touch Beth's forehead.  
  
   "I'm cold."  
  
   "You've got a fever." He explained as he rummaged around the foot of the couch. "I need you to take some of these."  
  
   His hand extended out to her but Beth shook her head.  
  
   "We need to save those for someone who needs it."  
  
   "There isn't anyone else. Just you and me. Take them."  
  
   Two red pills suddenly appeared in her lap, next to her full bottle of water. Heeding the serious tone of his last words, Beth swallowed. Going against the voice in her head that told her to ration, she gulped down the contents of the water bottle along with the medicine.   
  
   "You know, there's a time and a place to be noble. To try and save supplies for other people. And that time and place isn't while recovering from a gunshot wound to the head."  
  
   Beth let out a short laugh, cringing at the pain that shot through her head as she did. She pushed herself up onto her elbows so that she could manage a better look around the room.   
  
   All of the religious paintings and quotes had been taken down from the wall, nowhere to be seen. The once cluttered desk now held nothing but a single bible. That, and over a dozen cans of food.  
  
   Her stomach rumbled.  
  
   "You hungry?" Morgan followed her gaze.  
  
   Beth nodded eagerly. She was unsure of when she had eaten last, but she knew that she hadn't even been able to keep it down. The flat of her stomach was now slightly raised. Malnourishment; she remembered learning in school about how it caused bloating.  
  
   Her hand grazed over the bump. It was so small, had she really been pregnant once? Beth had seen plenty of women after they had given birth. She knew it left more of a mark on a body than this.  
  
   But then who was Judith to her? She had felt so much love for that little girl, and Beth had been so sure that it was because she was her own.   
  
   "Beth?" Morgan stood suddenly in front of her with an open can of kidney beans.   
  
   "Sorry," she turned her focus back to him. "I was just trying to remember."  
  
   Morgan looked her over curiously as he plopped back down into his chair. "What _do_ you remember?"  
  
   It took her a moment to answer. Beth was trying to catalog everything that she could before she spoke. Things were already confusing enough without her thoughts being all jumbled.  
  
   "My name. The names of my family and friends. I know what's happened." She let out a groan of frustration. "But that's it. I don't even remember how I learned about all of this. Or what I did after." Her gaze turned to the window and through the boards she could see a walker ambling around in the trees. A middle aged woman with glasses and a chunk of her face hanging off. The thing had been blonde once but now its hair was caked in blood and dirt. Beth shuddered as she let herself picture what her body would look like as a walker.  
  
   Morgan didn't respond, just placed the beans in her hand. Beth quickly shoveled the food into her mouth. It seemed like she had only just taken a bite before the can was empty. Her stomach still rumbled.  
  
   "That's all I wanna give you right now," Morgan apologized. "We don't have a lot and besides, I don't want to risk you getting sick again from eating too much."  
  
   Beth sunk back down on the couch. She wouldn't have taken any more anyway. That was something else she could remember. The hunger pangs. It wouldn't take her long to get used to them again.   
  
   "You know who shot you?" Morgan asked once she closed her eyes again.  
  
   "A woman, I think. She was standing in front of me with a gun. I think she was a police officer because she had on some sort of uniform."  
  
   "Could've just picked it up somewhere. There aren't exactly people controlling that stuff anymore."  
  
   Beth cringed as that split second of memory washed over her. The smell of the woman's breath, warm on her face. It had been clean, minty, like she had just brushed them. Beth slid her tongue along the grime on her own teeth. Where had she been if that woman had the simple luxury of hygiene?   
  
   It was the woman's eyes that she would never forget though. If she never remembered anything else, Beth would remember that. The dark brown of them, laced with so much disdain. And so smug. Tears began to leak from Beth's shut eyes.  
  
   "Hey, hey," Morgan comforted. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned it Beth. I don't know what the heck I was thinking."  
  
   Beth peaked out at him with a small smile. "It's okay, I'm just tired is all. The medicine is helping though."   
  
   "I want you to sleep."  
  
   She nodded, if there was anything she knew lately it was that she was exhausted. Beth closed her eyes again, letting sleep wash over her.

***

  
   Her legs ached. Beth knew she had pushed herself too hard but she couldn't help it. When Morgan had suggested trying to walk, when she had taken that first step, Beth could barely contain her excitement. It was likely the adrenaline rush of the sheer possibility of recovery, but Beth had felt invincible.   
  
   She'd kept what was surely a painfully tight grip on Morgan's hand the entire time. One wobbly step after another, until she had let go. By herself Beth could only make it a few steps but it was enough. Leaning heavily on the desk for support, Beth worked to catch her breath.  
  
   "Sit down," Morgan had scolded and led her back to the couch.  
  
   She obliged, leaning her head back against the window and stretching her legs out in front of her. The steady thrum of pain in her calves was an inviting sensation. It felt useful. After the pain of a gunshot wound to the head it was barely noticeable.  
  
   "Want me to read to you?" Morgan picked up the bible. Sitting down next to her, he flipped open to a random page. "Nothing more entertaining than the bible."  
  
   Beth laughed. "It _is_ pretty dramatic."  
  
   "Makes all of this," he pointed behind them out the window. "Look like nothing."  
  
   Beth craned her neck to see the outside. A frost over the windows made it hard to, but she could just make out the female walker from before. It was on its knees, hunched over what looked like the gutted remains of a squirrel. Beth's stomach rumbled as she watched, the phantom taste of squirrel on her tongue.   
  
   Apparently that was another thing to add to her list of memories: She was a fan of squirrel.  
  
   Laughing to herself, Beth looked back towards Morgan. "It's messed up that I'm laughing about it."  
  
   "Gotta find humor somewhere. My son was always good at that."

    Morgan's eyes glazed over as he let some memory take over him.  


   "What was his name?" Beth prompted gently.  
  
   "Duane."   
  
   His voice was thick with tears, and Beth felt a wave of gratitude towards Morgan wash over her. This man had picked her up and cared for her when he had no reason to. The obvious choice would have been for him to put her out of her misery and move on. He hadn't though. Ignoring the ache in her back at her sudden movement, Beth reached forward to wrap her arms around Morgan's neck.   
  
   "I'm really sorry," was all she felt the need to say. He obviously didn't want to discuss his son any further and Beth could respect that. "I think my mother's dead. I'm not sure why, but I just have a feeling."  
     
"I think that's called a memory."  
  
   Beth's laugh was humorless. "Except I can't picture it. Not that I would really want to..."   
  
   A silence extended between them as they both became lost in thought. Beth with the struggle to remember something, _anything_ , about what had happened. Morgan with the memories of what had happened to his own family, the ones he wanted to erase.   
  
   "Alright," he finally cleared his throat. "Lay down and I'll read to you."   
  
   Morgan pushed himself off of the couch with a grunt. Helping Beth lay down and placing a blanket over her, he sat down in the chair across from her. Morgan flipped the bible open to a random page.  
  
   "But if it is preached that Christ has been raised from the dead, how can some of you say that there is no resurrection of the dead? If there is no resurrection of the dead, then not even Christ has been raised. And if Christ has not been raised, our preaching is useless and so is your faith. More than that, we are then found to be false witnesses about God, for we have testified about God that he raised Christ from the dead. But he did not raise him if in fact the dead are not raised. For if the dead are not raised, then Christ has not been raised either. And if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile; you are still in your sins. Then those also who have fallen asleep in Christ are lost. If only for this life-"  
  
   "Stop!" Beth cut him off. "No talk about rising from the dead."  
  
   "Sorry." Morgan opened to another page.  
  
   "If they say, Come with us, let us lay wait for blood, let us lurk privily for the innocent without cause: Let us swallow them up alive as the grave; and whole, as those that go down into- Okay!" Morgan slammed the book shut. "Maybe reading the bible wasn't the best idea."  
  
   Beth nodded, trying not to focus too much on the words that he'd just read aloud. Her mind flashed to being in that shallow grave. Sobbing as she tried to dig her way out. Unable to stop it, Beth began to shake as she held back the sob that threatened to bubble from her lips.  
  
   "How could they not have checked to make sure I was alive?" Her voice sounded angry, even as it shook in time with her body. She wrapped her arms around herself protectively.  
  
   "Beth-" Morgan reached his hand out but stopped himself when she began to wheeze.  
  
   She couldn't breathe. She tried to, it just came out in ragged gasps as she clutched at her chest. Morgan was talking to her but she couldn't hear him. There was a deafening roar in her ears, one that pounded along with her heartbeat. She needed to breathe. Except she couldn't with the dry sobs that wracked her body, taking control of her.   
  
   "Morg-" she managed to gasp out. Her vision starting to blur in and out as her struggle continued.   
  
   She needed to breathe.  
  
   Everything went black.  


* * *

  
   Someone was crying next to his ear. _Fucking Maggie_ , he thought bitterly. _She needed to shut the fuck up already._    
  
   Except when Daryl opened his eyes he saw that it was Carol who stood over him. Rick too. Carol was the one making all of the noise, but Rick's eyes were red rimmed and puffy as well.  
  
   He should have felt moved by their obvious distress. Instead he just felt angrier. Of course they stood and cried over his fucking body and yet they couldn't have bothered to care about Beth the entire time she was alive. He hated them.  
  
   Not as much as he hated himself though. He couldn't do a damn thing right. Couldn't protect Beth, couldn't save her life, couldn't even kill himself. It was a wonder that this group had ever trusted and respected him. Because Daryl was sure now that he wasn't good for shit.   
  
   "Daryl..." Rick spoke cautiously, like he was afraid Daryl was going to detonate any second.  
  
   Daryl ignored him. Instead choosing to turn his body away from them to curl onto his side. It took him a few seconds to manage it. He must have lost a decent amount of blood from his cuts because Daryl felt exhausted. The burning sensation in his wrists wasn't helping.  
  
   Closing his eyes, the last thing Daryl saw before he fell asleep was the spray of Beth's blood covering his body in that narrow hallway.

***

  
   The second time Daryl woke he was alone. There was a heavy silence, something that he would have considered blessing under normal circumstances, but was now jarring. He was obviously the only person in this house, wherever it was. In fact, Daryl was probably the only person for about a mile.  
  
   A part of him hoped that the group had left him behind. They had obviously found some sort of shelter for him to recover in so maybe they had moved on without him. Honestly, he wouldn't have cared much. As long as they left his crossbow.   
  
   Forcing himself to sit up, Daryl surveyed the bedroom that he was in. 'Quaint' would probably be the way anyone but himself would describe it. 'Obnoxious' was more like it. The walls were filled with pictures of the family that had lived here before. One big, happy family. A brother, two sisters, and their parents.  
  
   Daryl shuddered. The memory of waking up at the Greene Farm drifting to the surface. Beth had brought him food and water a few times when he was recovering from his gunshot wound. She hadn't said much, obviously intimidated by him. At the time it had pissed him off that she was seemingly judging him so quickly. Looking back at it though, he knew that it was his fault.  
  
   She had been young, and Daryl had been an asshole. Gruff and always angry. What was she supposed to have thought of him?   
  
   It was the opposite of how Beth was after the fall of the prison. Daryl had been the same, reverting back to his constant thrum of anger that bubbled just beneath the surface. He'd been an asshole to her all over again. Beth had grown though, she didn't let him hurt her. She didn't take any of his shit.  
  
   And then she changed him.  
  
   Daryl clenched his jaw at the thought. The last thing he wanted to do right now was thing of Beth. He needed to push her out of his mind, at least for a few minutes. No longer than that.   
  
   As he stood up from the bed the pain in his wrists flared up again. Putting pressure on them had obviously been a mistake. One that he probably shouldn't make again for a couple of days. There was a bottle of rubbing alcohol and some clean bandages on the bedside table. Daryl brought them with him as he exited the bedroom and made his way downstairs.   
  
   The group definitely hadn't abandoned him. Not unless they had left all of their things behind for Daryl. He knew that he should be worried about them. They would never just leave this place empty while he slept. Maybe they were dead. Killed by a group too stupid to check to see if the upstairs was empty.   
  
   Except there was no blood, and Daryl would have heard his family being slaughtered below him. No one slept _that_ soundly.   
  
   Well, Beth had.  
  
   Not always. Not after the prison fell and definitely not before the moonshine shack. But after that, after they had found the funeral home, the girl could pass out like a rock. Eventually Daryl had started letting his guard down too and sleeping beside her. He'd been a fucking idiot. All hopped up on some weird high that being around her caused. Even at the prison Daryl had known never to leave a place unwatched at night.  
  
   Only at that funeral home had he let it change. Usually they woke up on opposite sides of the bed, backs to each other, but every so often... Daryl would wake in the morning, feeling Beth stir, with her head in his chest and their arms wrapped around each other.  
  
   The memory of it made him nauseous.  
  
   "Oh, hey!" The front door suddenly swung open and Rosita walked in. "I didn't hear you come downstairs. I was right outside, just wanted a little fresh air."  
  
   "I move quietly," was all the mumbled back.  
  
   "Yeah I noticed that before. You're a pretty good hunter. Well, before..." Rosita's voice trailed off. Her cheeks flared bright red as her eyes darted to Daryl's wrists.   
  
   "Yeah."   
  
   Rosita cleared her throat uncomfortably. Daryl only stared at her, hoping she'd feel awkward enough to just go back outside and leave him be. She didn't.   
     
   "Everyone's over at this pond about three miles away. We found soap here! Shampoo and conditioner too! So they're all washing up. They've gotta be cold though. Poor Judith is probably sobbing up a storm, attracting walkers for miles." She talked at a rapid pace, her discomfort painfully obvious. Thankfully she stopped as she tried to open a can of corn with her knife. Too busy grunting with exertion to piss him off with small talk. 

   Daryl ignored her struggle as he began to change his bandages, hissing as he rubbed the alcohol over his fresh wounds. Whoever had stitched him up had done a decent job but the raised skin held a reddish tint that Daryl didn’t like. He may not have been good for much, but he knew how to clean a damn wound. Which was apparently more than he could say for this group.   
  
   "Jesus!" Rosita finally slammed the knife down onto the kitchen counter. "I can kill a walker with my eyes closed but I still can't open these damn cans without a can opener. Can you-" Rosita cut herself off. She had picked up the knife and reached towards Daryl with it so that he could help. Seeming to decide it was a bad idea for him to be holding a sharp object midway through, Rosita just stood frozen, the knife pointed at him.  
  
   "I ain't gonna fucking slit my wrists again, okay?" Daryl strode over and ripped the knife from Rosita's hand. "Move," he pushed her out of the way with his hip and began to open the can with her knife.   
  
   "Next time I'll use a gun." He mumbled to himself humorlessly.   
  
   "That's not funny." Rosita's voice turned dead serious, no hint of the awkwardness from before.   
  
   Daryl looked up in surprise at her change in tone. Rosita stared him down with a stormy look in her eye.  
  
   "You know, I tried to kill myself," she continued, jaw clenched. "Put a gun to my temple and everything but it jammed. Call it luck, call it God, but I made it and you don't get to fucking joke about it just because you've tried it too."  
  
   Daryl felt the way his heart sped up at her words and tried to keep his breathing even.  
  
 _But I made it, and you don’t get to treat me like crap just ‘cause you’re afraid!_    
  
   Rosita seemed to flicker in and out before him. He could see her mouth moving but all he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears. The roar of it felt deafening. And then suddenly there was Beth, standing in Rosita's place.  
  
   She smiled at him, her eyes filled with understanding. And forgiveness. He hated her for it. He didn't want her forgiveness. What he wanted was for her to stand in front of him and tell him how he'd ruined her. Even in his brain's conjuring up of her she would never do that, and he hated her for it. He hated himself for it.   
  
   Daryl shoved his palms roughly into the lids of his eyes and rubbed. What he needed now was to get out of this house. In the outdoors he could breathe, that was the way it had always been. When he was a kid and his dad was beating the shit out of his mom he took refuge in their overgrown backyard. Even before hunting, even before living in the woods when he had no home to go, Daryl loved being outside.   
  
   So that was where he went. Shoving past Rosita and her protests about his lack of weapon, Daryl stumbled out the front door. The group still must have been down at the pond because he saw and heard no one as he made his way into the trees. Good. He didn't need anyone following him.  
  
   The problem was that he still felt dizzy from what he'd done the other night. He must have lost a lot of blood. _Fuck them_ , he berated the group in his head, _I was so close and of course they had to fuck it up._  
  
   It didn't take him long before he was leaning heavily against a tree, gasping for breath. A moaning walker shuffled slowly towards him from behind. Daryl could have just kept walking and never had to deal with the thing. But he didn't want to. He wanted to hurt it.   
  
   There was a stick the size of a baseball bat lying not too far from him. Groaning as he bent down to pick it up, Daryl felt a rush of adrenaline hit him as he faced the walker. It didn't look like much. The thing looked like he was in his 50s before he’d turned, and he definitely looked like he'd been decaying for a few good years now. Target practice. Daryl raised the stick up as he walked closer to the thing.  
  
 _Killing them isn’t supposed to be fun!_  
  
   Daryl stopped short, stick held up in a batting position. The ache of holding his arms up began making his wounds throb. Her voice running through his head like always, Daryl dropped the weapon.  
  
   "I'll come back for you later," he grumbled, kicking his foot out to knock the walker down before he walked back in the direction of the house. He'd use his crossbow. One shot to the head, the way Beth always insisted. 

***

 

   "Stop hovering." Daryl demanded of Carol as he felt her slowly inch her way towards him.   
  
   They were all gathered in the living room, turned expectantly toward Rick. He had called them all in for this meeting over an hour ago but people were still shuffling in. The man who he thought of as a brother looked strange standing up in front of everyone by himself. Daryl had always been right there at his side, ready to enforce or defend whatever Rick had to say.   
  
   He just didn't care enough to anymore. Even before Beth's death, his mindset had differed extremely from Rick's. They'd seemed to have drifted down different paths in their time after the prison. Now, Daryl's path seemed to have changed course once again. It still wasn't the same as Rick's though. The truth was that Daryl didn't have any input to offer these people. He may have been alive, but he didn't want to be and he didn't give a shit what happened to their group.   
  
   "Sorry," Carol took a quick step back at his words.   
  
   It was then that Maggie and Glenn walked through the door. Both carried large baskets of berries that Carl immediately jumped for.   
  
   Maggie's gaze seemed to be pulled towards Daryl like a magnet. They had yet to see each other after he had told her exactly how he felt about her and the way she had abandoned Beth. Mostly Daryl had just been avoiding everyone up in that bedroom. Except for Rick and Carol, who refused to leave him alone. And Rosita, who kept poking her head in at random times. Never saying anything, just surveying the room and then scurrying away.   
  
   Maggie's cheeks flared red as their eyes met. He couldn't read her expression but he saw more than one emotion flash through her gaze as Daryl stared her down. He was satisfied to recognize that one of them was guilt. Good. Daryl only hoped that it was for her sister and not for him. At least she had stopped crying.  
  
   "Alright," Rick called the group to attention. "We've been here five days now and we've gotta figure out a game plan."  
  
   "How long is it gonna take us to get there?" Tyreese asked. The big, burly man bouncing Judith on his hip like it was the most natural thing in the world to him.  
  
 _Like Beth._  
  
   Rick surveyed the room before answering. "'Bout two months I'm guessing. Not much longer than that."  
  
   "That's not true," Father Gabriel cut in. "DC isn't terribly far, it really should only take us a month."  
  
   Everyone turned to stare at him. Even Daryl felt invested enough in the man's naivety to pass judgment. Rick was at least kinder in his explanation than Daryl would have been.  
  
   "We're gonna have to stop and recoup more than once, probably for a few days at a time. Like we've been doing now." Daryl could sense more than one pair of eyes turn to him at Rick's words. "Unless we find a bus miraculously, there's no way we can find enough cars to fit us all. Plus we’ll be moving around whatever herd of walkers pop up. Two months, minimum."   
  
   "Oh..."   
  
 _Oh_.  
  
   "You in?" Michonne's voice was kind as she spoke to Father Gabriel. "If you stayed in this house you could make it. No hard feelings."  
  
   Father Gabriel's eyes were wide from the impact of every member of their group turned to him. It was shocking to think that this man had once spoken to a congregation of people every single week. Finally the man gulped and answered. "I know you people don't think I'm strong, but I’ve made it this far. I would rather be with traveling into the unknown then to be alone again."  
  
   The group all smiled and nodded approvingly, but Daryl felt the walls of the room closing in on him.  
  
 _But I made it_. _I am strong._  
  
   Daryl tried his hardest to hide the shallowness of his breathing.

   Rosita and Sasha both seemed to notice though. The two women immediately shifted forward in their seats at the ragged sound of his breath. Not wanting to deal with the group's concern, Daryl managed to push himself up from the couch.   
  
   "Don't,” he demanded to Carol as the woman began to follow after him. She had probably noticed his trouble breathing too, but he had no desire to look to see her reaction.   
  
   Everyone turned to look at him as he walked through their group. Pushing his way through the group and out the door, Daryl was grateful to see that no one bothered to follow him. The cold nip of the air felt good in his lungs. It made him feel like he could breathe again. When he closed his eyes to calm his racing thoughts, there was Beth.  
  
   She was still covered in blood, but at least this time it wasn't her own. It was the black blood of a walker who’s body Daryl had marred. The spray of it covering a white cardigan Beth had stolen from the country club's gift shop.  
  
   Daryl laughed at the memory of Beth scoffing as she peeled off the bloody clothing.  
  
   "That's the first time I've heard you laugh in a long time."   
  
   Daryl didn't jump, but he was surprised to see Glenn standing directly in front of him. _Not so observant anymore, are you?_ His mind taunted.  
  
   "Ain't much to laugh about these days," was all Daryl cared to reply.  
  
   Glenn nodded in understanding. "I know. And I'm sorry Daryl, I truly am. I just hope you know that."  
  
   Daryl didn't have anything to say to Glenn. The words of comfort fell on deaf ears as far as Daryl was concerned. He just stared until the man he had once considered family awkwardly squeezed Daryl's shoulder and walked away.  
  
   They needed to leave this house soon. Daryl would stick with them until DC but then he planned to go his own way. Ironic, was what it was. Only a few weeks ago Daryl had been working to convince Carol to stay with them and now he was searching for the best time to leave. Daryl wished he could do it sooner than DC but he wouldn't abandon them to fend for themselves. Not the way they had done with Beth.  
  
   Maybe he'd go to Florida. 'No winter' was really his only requirement. Plus, Daryl had always wanted to hunt alligator.   
  
   There was nothing left for him here.  
  
   "You alright?" Rosita poked her head outside to check on him.  
  
   "Right as fuckin' rain."  
  
   Taking a deep breath in, Daryl followed Rosita back inside the house. The faster they got a move on, the faster he could move on. Best to get started now.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I've always really loved Morgan's character. He was so willing to take in and care for Rick, and the way he protected Duane as much as he could was honorable. So it made sense to me that even with his shaky mental state he would still take Beth on and nurse her back to health. Even more than that, he would be an emotional anchor for her to the best of his ability.   
> Hopefully no one gets upset at Daryl's anger in the next few chapters. The poor guy is grieving and he just needs to figure out how to do it in a healthy way. It's not like he hasn't lost people before, but losing a romantic love is a whole different ball game. I also decided that Daryl's sort of confidante for his hurt would be better suited as someone outside of Team Family. He's so full of resentment towards them. Which is understandable considering they all were so quick to write off Beth. I considered it being Noah, but decided that there was too much resentment there too. Beth "died" for Noah basically, and Daryl isn't one to forgive that. Eugene is a no go on emotional topics this heavy, and I'm not Abe's biggest fan. I doubt he'd be understanding. So Rosita was my next thought, but actually it fit perfectly. She's got a very unexplored backstory so there's more room to develop that character. Plus I believe that Rosita is more observant and kind than she initially let on (which we've already seen in the show okay I LOVE ROSITA). So voila, Darita brotp 2K15!

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Comments are much appreciated! I’m not sure how long this will be but there will be at least a few more installments. The Bethyl handholding moment would have taken place sometime between burning down the shack and finding the funeral home. Right as they were starting to get close *insert crying emoji here*.  
> I apologize 1000x over for the extremely depressing ending. After burying Beth, Daryl’s in a pretty dark space. With her he changed and became this more complete person, but seeing her ripped away from him like that basically erased any progress he had made. At least for a while. He was pretty cruel to Maggie, no matter how much of what he said was true, but he’s grieving and anger is a pretty big part of the process.  
> As for Beth, well… Our girl is waking up and learning all over again how strong she is. I feel like in this chapter her journey and Daryl’s journey are on the exact opposite route.


End file.
